The Darkest Hour
by Ambrosia Ice
Summary: The year is 1903, London, and James doesn't know if he's going to survive the year. With Grace always on his mind and him having long periods of memory gaps... He hopes he and his family can survive this Heartbreak and the oncoming storm.


**:D I just love the snippets we get from Tales of the Shadowhunter Academy and The Bane Chronicles. Couldn't resist. Also this takes place the morning after The Midnight Heir.**

James was mildly surprised that he didn't have a hangover. Weather or not that was a good thing… Well, he couldn't say. Rubbing his face, he rolled out of bed. A glance outside told him it was either dawn or dusk. He didn't really keep a record of time.

He felt guilty at the previous night, even if he could barely remember if. He, barely, remembered a Warlock talking to him… and maybe Uncle Jem. He wasn't sure.

In the past weeks, he'd tried to cover up his broken heart by drinking. He had a death wish… and one of these days he would finally die. Maybe then he would finally forget about _Her_ and have peace at last.

He felt tears filling his eyes and found it very hard to breath. All the normal part of waking up. This time, however, it felt different.

His body moved of its own accord, reaching for the gun he knew was there. James felt his heart speeding up as he put the gun to his chin and pulled the trigger back.

It felt like he'd stood there, frozen, for several minutes. And maybe he had. Having an inner war about if this was really what he wanted. Maybe he didn't want to die, not like this, not at home. Maybe he wanted to die by a demon or vampire's hand. Maybe.

But this way… this way would be much easier. Messier, but cleaner. His family wouldn't have to wonder if he was really dead. Even the _Parabati_ bond could easily lie about his death. Wasn't that how it was between his father and Uncle Jem? His father had thought Jem was _dead_ before he'd found out the truth.

Well. They always knew there was a risk of dying young. Especially in their line of work.

His vision was blurry and it was almost like he was drunk again. He couldn't see exactly who it was, couldn't hear exactly what they were saying. The only thing he knew was that it was someone his age and they sounded panicked.

He felt them gently prying the gun from his hand, numbly letting them hug him as he stood there more of a mess than he'd ever shown to be, sober or drunk.

Abruptly he pushed whoever it was away, fading into the shadows, and fled. Two pairs of Footsteps echoed through the Institute. He pulled the front door open, not caring that his both his mother and father had started to get up from where they sat.

He didn't know where he was running too. He didn't know where he'd end up. Anywhere was better than where he was. If he could be anyone else… or take away any pain he felt… he'd do whatever in a heartbeat.

He sat next to the sound, trying to clear his head, figure out what he truly wanted.

In another time he may have said he wanted to live, that pain means he's alive. _Grace… why?_

XxXxXxX

Slowly, everything came back into focus for James and he wiped away whatever tears he'd still had. He had been sitting against the same tree for the better half of the day, or night. He wasn't sure if he wanted to pull himself out of the comforting shadows. It felt like it would be more of a hassle.

"Want to talk about it?" came a familiar voice and he jerked his head around to see Matthew.

"Not really." was his broken reply. "I… made a promise. And I won't break it." he wanted more than anything to tell his best friend, his _brother,_ what had been happening, what had happened. So much of his life included memory gaps now and he desperately wanted to know what he'd done, or said, during those times.

"Your secrets are _my_ secrets. As are your promises." It was oddly comforting to hear the words he knew to be true… but this… this secret, this promise, had been his for years. This heartbreak was his to bare alone.

"I'm sorry." was all he replied before standing. He willed himself out of the shadows, out into the world he didn't want to be.

Matthew's expression was dark, but deep in his eyes he was worried. James forced himself not to flinch. He hated how much of a bother he was, on everyone.

"If I'm going to have to take care of you like I do my Father, let me know now so I'm not expecting someone to have my back when they don't even have their own." The words where harsh, and once upon a time the words would have stung every bit of James' being. Now? Now they had as much meaning as a bee sting.

"Then don't worry about me." was his simple response before he turned and started heading to the pub. Drowning his thoughts sounded like a brilliant idea.

That was before Matt's fist collided with his face. On instinct, he swung back. He didn't even know what had happened. They were suddenly in an all-out fighting match and it wasn't like when they trained or practised together.

James didn't know how long the fight had lasted, but after a while he could finally, _finally,_ think clearly for the first time since Grace had turned his heart to dust.

 _Come on, Jamie, you don't think you can get away from these feelings for long… do you?_

He froze middodgd, which resulted in a push to the gut. Whatever clarity he'd had was quickly retreating. He felt sick, not at the punch, but at the realization that he'd never get over Grace. He'd loved her for to long. He'd had eyes on her and only _her_ since the first time they'd met at seven. At twelve he'd confessed his feelings, and she'd confirmed that she returned them.

She'd told him that their parents - or guardian - couldn't know. He'd agreed all to eagerly. Had she ever really cared?

His muscles wouldn't move to let him dodge or return Matthew's attacks. Matt stopped midpunch. "Aren't going to fight, are you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.


End file.
